Gestalt Psychology
by Jane P
Summary: A haunted house isn't super convenient when you're standing in your bedroom wearing only a towel. "I definitely like you more without the kilt." At least I could effectively hurl a pillow at the pervy anti-christ at my window. MichaelxOC


**Chapter One**

"We have a visual on Alpha Bravo!" Tiffany (loudly) whispered to me as we left homeroom. Of course I was forcefully repressing a face palm, but Stephen Miller's particularly dreamy smile had a habit of stopping brain function. Effectively creating 'Zombie Calvin', as I will refer to myself in this state. Not 'Special Education Calvin', or 'Stop-eating-the-paste Calvin', as Tiffany prefers to dub me. You see, zombies retain motor control. And unfortunately Zombie Calvin can still shamble herself through the school hallway.

Hallway.

Segue attained and maladaptive brain behaviour regulated. I raised my brow at Tiffany, "Phonetic alphabet?" I mean really, she was code naming Stephen? And, more importantly, she picked Alpha Bravo over 'Sex God'? Yep Zombie Calvin and Sex God were made for each other. Our children will have his dimples and my blue eyes. Wow, I almost swooned. Zombie Calvin is damn persistent.

"Look where _Black Hawk_'s at?" The increased frequency at the end of her sentence alerted me to the question and the grammatical error. But I'm not one of those anal grammar Nazi's.

I slowly started scratching the back of my head. I can control myself. I'm strong. "You ended on a preposition!" Oh god, I have a sickness. And the attention span of a spork, which I figure is pretty non-existent. I suddenly tilted my head, "Besides a Black Hawk is a helicopter."

Tiffany threw up her hands in frustration as we continued walking to our next class. Aduh! Nearly forgot about eye-stalking Sex God. He was a half click north (yeah, Tiff had me on the military jargon), leaning casually against his locker and apparently smiling at something one of his jock buddies had just said. Insert dimples and mental drool.

So what was my game plan? Walk past looking as hot and desirable as possible, obviously.

Yes, I totally had the sexy walk down. A little bummed I don't have more booty, but whatever (or _butt_ whatever! Oh, I'm a riot), a stealthily timed hair flick will distract his attention to the upper half of my body. It just occurred to me that choreographing our first meeting and establishing the story I'll reminisce during the toast at our wedding makes me a bit of a psychopath. Err, moving on.

As I was clicking my tan brogues down the hallway next to Tiffany, Sex God's eyes met my own. People we have impact! Also, the perfect time to implement the classic hair flick move. I turned my head to gain ultimate lift for my shiny blonde hair, but I didn't quite manage to execute the plan.

Zombie Calvin had returned.

With full flesh-hungry vengeance.

My foot slipped and a primary motor cortex crushing scene ensued. Yep. So much for the toast at my wedding. As my body proceeded to lose balance I got the face palm I had earlier repressed. I heard Tiffany Gasp, passing students call out names and the target of my mission burst into a fit of laugher.

Maybe Zombie Calvin isn't as appropriate as 'Social Suicide Calvin'. Because in the moment I jumped up to my feet and looked back to see Sex God still laughing at me, I also managed to walk into a nearby locker.

The bright side is that this head injury knocked me unconscious and I didn't have to suffer through Sex God's surprisingly unattractive laughter. Seriously, it was like he had a blocked nasal passage or something. What if our future children were born with his snort-laugh? This day was turning into a downer. Public embarrassment and I had to end my imaginary relationship with Sex God. Could my life such any worse?

* * *

Why yes, yes it can. Because as I was forcibly reliving the worst moment of my high school life I was also sitting on a cramped plane heading to the West Coast. LA, to be specific. Since I refused to return to school after committing social suicide momsy and dadsy decided a nice private school on the other side of the country would be a counter pill for my apparent depression. Like hey, I'm not depressed! I'm just weird and socially awkward.

"Dammit," I hissed as my little brother stabbed me with his plastic knife. I could already tell LA was going to be peachy.

Jake giggled as he popped a peanut in his mouth. And of course, mom and dad fly business class while Jake and I get to chill out in coach. "Why are you so happy?" I grumbled, folding my arms and kicking the chair in front of me. The woman briefly turned around with a shocked look, but she eventually shrugged it off. Whatever lady, you didn't have to spend three years struggling to make friends, finally make a single friend, THEN have to start all over again at another preppy school for smart rich kids.

"Because," He smiled next to me, swinging his feet and giggling again.

I rolled my eyes, "because why?" I honestly don't know why I even bother. I'm not a huge fan of children, particularly annoying eight year olds with dark hair and freckles.

"Because we're going to Emitable horror," He started jumping around in his seat. Weirdo.

Besides you think an eight year old would be able to pronounce 'Amityville'. I stupidly let Jake watch the original move with me a few months ago. Seriously every single house we looked at Jake classified as haunted. Crazy right? Especially the house my parents chose. Yep apparently we're moving into a horror movie.

* * *

I didn't like the house. But hey, I didn't like the move. I also really disliked my school uniform. Yes, a ridiculously long and heavy tartan kilt courtesy of St. Mary's Catholic High School. Just give me a second to jump with excitement because this thing is seriously heavy.

"Interesting skirt." A dark voice whispered from behind me.

I spun around to see a blonde guy sitting on my windowsill. Okayyy. That's a little unusual. Also, he's quite dashing. Yep. Possible serial killer in my room and I instantly put on my hot guy radar. Whatever, he's beeping cute.

I have also possibly waited too long to respond. Dammit, internal monologue! "Uh, yeah. Well it's what the inmates at St. Mary's are forced to wear." I nearly snorted at my lame save. Smooth Calvin, now lets show him some embarrassing baby photos.

"I wouldn't know. I've never been to school." He smiled and dude, my god, I was seconds away from swooning. I really must have a fetish for dimples or something.

I squinted, "Seriously? What's your secret?" Either this guy was James Dean or seriously playing me.

He gave me a cool shrug. Ahuh, a rebel without a cause.

Aaaand I stood there staring at him, apparently waiting for more of a response.

Yep, looking like a mentally ill prodigy. Obviously this dude doesn't get out much. I nodded my head awkwardly, as if counting the moments of silence. "Anyway," my eyes bulged awkwardly, "I'm Calvin Thomas. Just moved here."

He jumped off the windowsill and walked across my bedroom floor. "Michael," He half-smiled as he shook my hand, "I live next door."


End file.
